The depraved dreams of a billion lost souls. Strange fantasies of would be tyrants. Haunted amusement parks on Acid. Ambulances and morgues. The business of daily death and destruction. Babies rescued from waste bins and mutated into killer tour guides. The terrible saga is at an end and reality has become horror.

Monday, June 29, 2009

I started shooting the instant the doors closed behind Kyle. I stood away from the front entrance and just walked with him as he tried to squirm and jump out of the way. The 9mm was cheap and the bullets were free, so I didn’t spare any. I finished the clip at the base of his spine and dropped it. Cindy had told me that he took Clay home that night. I remembered how horrible he looked the next day, but none of it made sense until I found out you were dead. Clay hasn’t been around since.

I was already in the car and off the lot when the other door guy came running out of the front. He could call the plates in all he wanted. The little Honda was clean. Dark tint. Primer gray.

It was at the back of Yeg’s Towing in 15 minutes.

I slipped Yeg a dime and picked up the keys to an old Cadillac.

I headed South.

***

2. Interior. Cadillac. 45 South

I couldn’t stop. I remembered your face. When you quit, you said you were moving back to west Texas . . .take it easy for a while. In the country. Quiet. But I guess Things got bad. And then. Worse. I never thought you’d go back to Clay.

There was a large bag in the front seat next to me.

I had stuffed it full earlier. I had bought a city workers uniform from a resale shop. The hat and the dust mask/goggles. . . I got them at Home Depot. I got the big Sledge Hammer there too. I parked the ‘Lac about six blocks away from Clay’s and changed clothes.

***

3. Exterior. Sunrise. South side. Suburbs. Pink Brick House.

I was acting like I was reading the meter next to his front door. I knocked and when he saw the overalls and the hat he opened the door. I hit him in the chest with the hammer and he almost folded in half. I dragged him out into the yard by his boxers. It was strange the way it drove pieces of his skull in to the soft grass. Dull thuds. He stopped moving after the ninth or tenth swing.

I left the mess and the clothes and set it all on fire. I threw the lighter fluid bottle in after. It exploded when I was almost 2 blocks away. I had shorts and sandals in the bag. I spent the rest of the morning on the brown beach staring out at the Gulf. I saw lots of lights and heard the sirens, but none of them came to get me.

I took care of everything. Not too many pieces to put together. Neither of them knew me well. Only you Val. He’ll never hurt you again. Never.

Even if they do find me and put me away, I hear women’s prison is a joke these days…Rest in peace My Darling Girl. I love you.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

The refusal to recognize any authority beyond that of your own personal judgment is perhaps the most rebellious act a human being can attempt. I have attempted such an act, though I am not acting as much as I am experimenting. The laws of nature are just seemingly there until one comes up and bites you. Human law, the written law, is an active predator and seeks out the weak and the ignorant and punishes them. Stupidity should be an excuse for most crimes, but it is not. The law is the law. How hilarious.

I day dream of walking into churches with atheist pamphlets and a megaphone. GOD is a LIE, I scream at the top of my lungs. YOU DON'T NEED THIS! GOOD WILL COMES FROM MAN!

I imagine this, but I'll never do it. I don't want to risk it. I don't relish the idea of a crowd of angry Baptists trying to "convert" me. I don't think that it would accomplish much beyond pissing those people off.

God sticks with people. The idea. And it permeates every aspect of their reality. Actually it's really quite brilliant. We must recognize that it is little more than mind control. It manufactures perspective instead of allowing for people to develop their own. Asking god = praying. Asking a priest or a minister is the same as calling an 800 line. Instead of hot sex, you get advice. You get direction. You get a sense that someone out there cares about you.

It is no wonder there is still prostitution. I don't know many men who are comforted by what the church has to offer, which is why I think they have become increasingly effite in the last thirty years or so.

They offer peace, or they threaten you with doom and damnation. The peace they offer comes at a price of obedience and commitment. You must pay.

Once you see the relationships between people as arbitrary, then all hierarchies are worthy of scrutiny. There is no final solution to any social problem.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Hate and swarming anger bubbled up from her mouth like she was choking on rotten semen. It's uncomfortable for both of us. Her dirty feet stomp on the weak wooden floor as she pounds out her point, second by terrible second. Making sure. Letting me know. Each little movement is a tantrum that stretches back to the earliest days of her childhood. When we fuck, she goes back to her first time, raped at 14. She relives the horror and dread every time I choke her or push her into the mattress. Every time I spank her, she becomes at once intwined and liberated from those first moments of her sexual identity. I am her escape and her reality. She goes shopping for toys and bondage equipment instead of groceries. I live by fucking her brains out and fantasizing about the day that she'll betray me and I end up in prison after killing some poor fuck who came to my house expecting an easy lay, but found a hunting knife and a shotgun instead. She's working her way to being a firestarter, but she's never done it before. She's feeling me out, waiting to see if she can predict or control my behavior. I tell her it's pointless of course, but this doesn't stop her. She needs to feel like she has some say. It's my life though, and I've never been good at taking direction.

2.

The apartment is filled with little garbage flies. The kind that find their way into the tops of open liquor bottles in corporate bars. too busy serving drinks and counting money to take any care in the preparation. They stop on the wall and wait for something in the room to move before they begin frantically searching for something else to land on and feed off of. There is no food in the house, only remnants of half meals and takeout packages that for some reason don't give off an odor, but give the illusion of the idea that we are alive and that we consume. However, I happen to know the truth. We are dead. We are the living dead and we want to feed on flesh. Our own flesh is enough for us now, but our hunger and desire will continue to become fierce and carnivorous in the way of all evolving life. We cannot be symbiotic.

3.

Plagued by curiosity about other people who share our affliction . . . our sickness, we reach out constantly. We use the internet and find the things that we want to know, but the necessities escape us. Why must we work so hard so that other people may remain wealthy? Why must we bother with these scraps that they leave for us. We live in the haunted amusement park that is the decaying and rotten part of 20th century america. We were born into a system that can't fix itself. It has run down. It has been running down for almost a hundred years. We don't know why we are drawn to drugs and violence. We don't know why SEX is greater than GOD to us. We know that we are lost and we sense that we are somehow doomed. This is only an illusion. Priests rape children and retire in Ft. Lauderdale. Rivers dry up, while there's flooding two hundred miles away. Everything we think we know has been called into question. We are living and yet skeptical about whether or not we are alive. We have ontological issues. We love fire and we use it every day.

4.

She's made her point. I know that she needs to believe that she can affect my behavior. So I am letting her believe that and I am allowing her to gain some evidence in that regard. I have allowed for her tantrums to alter how I behave and I give it back to her full force when she wants to fuck. Which is most of the time.

We are running. We are not so much frightened as we are horrified at the idea of this country. The whole damned mess has started to become clear to us and we can't stand the sight of blood. The bile and the viscera beneath the skin that covers the bone has shaken our understanding of reality. We know of skulls, but we have never examined one. I fear that our curiosity will grow further still. I fear that when we really start running, that we will be running for a reason, and that there will be something very real at our heels.